Authors: P. J. Post
Ache (17 page)
Her words still ring like bullshit. “Whatever.” I can’t bring myself to tell her about Annie.
“No, not whatever. You know what? As terrible as all of this is, enough with this feeling sorry for yourself. You are a good person,” she says.
“That’s what Shauna said.”
“Maybe she isn’t all bad after all. Why didn’t you call me, Connor? We’re friends. You can always count on me.”
“How can I count on you if you’re in Boca with Bradford? But it
’s okay, he seems good for you. I never saw your eyes light up like that around anyone else, especially not me, so good for you, I’m happy for you.”
“How did you know we talked about that? Never mind, it doesn’t matter, he’s my brother. He’s my brother. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
I’m confused and then it fits together.
“But?” I ask.
“We have stuff going on, but I’m not going to Boca. We can talk about it later.”
“So we’re friends again?”
“We always were friends,” she says.
I’m tired of rethinking and talking about my sorry life, and then I think about Tonya, really think about her and what she said. She’s always been there for me. I think how intimate our conversation is and if I’m the person she thinks I am, then I need to do something for her and this is the time it needs doing.
“Come here,” I say and motion her up.
I take her hands and pull her up, so that so she straddles me, sitting on my legs. I can tell she’s not comfortable being like this, but there is something I have to do for her and I need her close.
“You’ve made some changes, overcome some stuff in the last few days. I don’t know what happened, what changed, but I’m happy for you. I really am, it looks good on you, but I showed you mine, now you have to show me yours.” I take her hand and start to slide one of the wristbands off.
She jerks back, but I hold on tight. “I already know.”
The tears gather in her eyes again and spill down her cheeks.
I pull the wrist band off one arm and then the other, revealing short ugly scars.
She looks at me with a helpless expression and then begins to talk, like she’s about to explain, but I hold a finger to her lips.
“We don’t need to talk about it, but you don’t have to hide this anymore. Neither of us has to hide anymore. Everyone deserves a second chance.”
I kiss each of her wrists and then she leans forward and hugs me fiercely, her face buried in my neck. I feel her hair, smell her shampoo.
I’m painfully aware of her legs around me, her warmth and the scent of honeysuckle that is everywhere now. I don’t want this moment to end.
She sits back, hands on my shoulders. I feel her ass on my thighs. And as inappropriate as it is, considering what we’re sharing, I’m very aware of her girl parts now.
She doesn’t even try to wipe away her tears and through her sobs she asks, “Why can’t I find someone like you, only older and not so fucked up?”
And then I look over her shoulder and see Shauna standing at the windows of the Garage door.
“Oh shit,” I say.
“What?” She turns, looking out the window and I feel her slump slightly as she slides off of me and onto the couch.
“Be right back,” I say and walk out the door into the rain.
I’m pissed that Shauna’s here, but I understand why she thought she needed to come. It’s not really her fault.
Shauna starts across the parking lot and then stops, confronting me.
“So you love her? Remember, I asked? You lied, you fucking lied to me, Connor. Carla tried to warn me, but I didn’t want to hear it,” she says.
“No, I didn’t lie. I care about you and I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“Then come with me now. If you care about me, then love me like I love you.”
“It doesn’t work like that.”
She steps closer and puts her hands on my bare chest. “It works however we say it works. I can make you happy, I can.”
“I know, but it’s not right. I can’t be what you want; what you need or even deserve. I never will.”
“Because you don’t love me, you love her?” Her eyes fill with tears.
“I didn’t know.”
“How can you not know who you love?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“I bet you are,” she says accusingly.
“I’m not choosing her. She doesn’t love me, I know she doesn’t. I didn’t lie, regardless of how I feel about her, she’s just a friend, a very dear friend. I’m choosing myself, I guess.”
“Then why can’t you choose you and me?”
“Because I can’t live a lie, not anymore. I’ve lived a lie my whole life.”
“I don’t understand,” she says.
“You don’t have to. I’m fucked up, that’s all you need to know — I’m broken and you can’t fix me.”
“But she can?” Her lower lip starts to quiver, her emotion overcoming her anger. She can’t seem to let the idea that I’m choosing Tonya over her go.
I can see she’s trying not to cry and I want to make it better.
“I don’t know if anyone can,” I say.
I take her in my arms and hug her. I don’t know what else to do.
“Horseshit,” she says and holds on tight.
“I’m not doing this because it’s easy. I’m doing it because it’s the right thing to do.”
“Right for who?”
“For you as much as for me. It would never work.”
“Horseshit,” she says again as she pulls back and glares at me with those blue-white eyes. The tears fall down her cheeks, mixing with the rain.
“I’d say we can try and be friends, but that’s not going to happen, is it?” I ask.
“You want to be my friend?” she asks in a slightly desperate tone.
Fuck me, I didn’t mean to give her hope, not like that.
“We can try, if you want, but I can’t guarantee anything. It’s a cliché for a reason, you know?”
She looks down and nods. “I know.”
I step away from her and let her go.
“Connor?”
“Yeah?”
“I still love you.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Some shit just is.
Then she walks back to her Jeep.
I turn and see Tonya standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. She looks incredibly small and vulnerable. Tears are streaming down her face. I wonder if she thinks I’m changing my mind and thinks I’m fucking up again. Shauna is beautiful standing in the rain.
I turn back to Shauna while the rain washes down the scars on my back and watch her stare at me for a minute, and then she gets into her Jeep. I watch her drive away, staring after her tail lights, and then I look back at Tonya.
She’s watching me, clutching the doorframe and resting her face against her hands. She looks lost too.
Maybe I’m wrong and Tonya’s right.
Maybe I’m not a worthless piece of shit.
Maybe I’m not that ugly little boy anymore?
I remember how my rage rolled up my spine that night in the tunnel with Annie, and I feel a similar feeling now, but it’s not rage. It’s unfamiliar, but I know what it is.
I look up at the clouds and close my eyes against the rain as it splatters against my face.
Maybe I can forgive myself, eventually?
Every moment with Tonya over the last few months rushes through my mind again, every jest, every smile, everything she said and every touch. Maybe I’m wrong about a lot of things. And what does good enough even mean? Maybe it’s something we have to work at, something to prove to ourselves everyday. Maybe being good enough is something that can only be judged in hindsight?
And
then I wonder if two broken people can fix each other and wonder if they want to try?
Fuck it.
I open my eyes and stare back at Tonya and I almost say it.
I almost call her Bethany.
I almost tell her everything.
I almost tell her I love her.
She pushes away from the doorframe in anticipation, like she knows I’m about to say something important, maybe it was the look in my eyes.
A few of days ago in the bathroom at the Garage she said sometimes things change fast. Her life changed so fast she almost ended it. If she knows that I know she’s really Bethany, then we’re going to talk about the night we met and most importantly why I didn’t call. There’s going to be questions, and then she’ll probably try to explain what happened to her again, like she did a few minutes ago.
But she’s not ready for that conversation yet; if she was, we’d have already discussed it. It’s wrong to put her in that situation now, before she’s ready. I pray to God we can fix each other and I hope we get that chance, but I know we’re not going to do it in one afternoon.
We stare at each other and then I reach out with my arms and motion her over.
She pauses, looking reluctant, but then she meets my eyes and steps out from under the awning.
I watch her ignore the puddles and the rain as she walks to me.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She’s my friend and she’s the woman I love, but I can’t tell her and it’s already beginning to tear me up inside. I never had a secret like this, a secret I want to share with anyone who’ll listen, especially Tonya. But I can’t — not yet. I have to bury it deep inside along with my rage.
I fell in love with Tonya over the last few months, but she’s also that amazing girl I met two years ago. She’s the fantasy become flesh — my salvation.
But I have a responsibility to protect her from my bullshit. If she’s ever going to love me, like I think she can, like I pray she will, I’m going to have to get my shit together first.
She stops in front of me and just stares into my eyes. Her t-shirt is soaked through and I can see her underwear in contrast to her skin. She doesn’t seem to care. Those big brown eyes of hers are more intense now than when she took out Debbie at the Laundromat and they feel like they are staring into my soul.
She lays her hands on my bare chest and then leans her forehead against me.
I wrap my arms around her and lay my face against her wet hair.
I swear I
can feel her heart beating fast and strong — insistent.
And then, just like two years ago, she stands on her tip-toes and studies my face for a moment and then kisses me on the corner of my mouth. Her lips are as soft as I remember, like a whisper, a ghost of a kiss. I can feel myself suddenly trembling, everything tingling at once.
I’m so fucking sick of secrets.
Thus ends Ache, Book One of the Punk Series
Look for
Scar,
Book Two of the Punk Series in spring of 2014.
I was going to say I hope you enjoyed reading this story, but I’m not sure if
enjoyed
is the right word, since much of the book was on the darker side. So instead I’ll say, I hope you connected with the story in some way and were excited for Connor, hopeful for his future and look forward to hearing more about him, his friends (especially Tonya, huh?) and the early 1980’s. Which means, I also hope you are looking forward to the next book —
SCAR
, where anything can happen and I fear it just might.
I’m truly enjoying writing this series, as emotionally trying as it may get at times, because I do believe in second chances. No matter how bad it gets, or was, good things can happen to good people, even if they don’t know how good they are.
I was originally planning on three books for the series, but now I’m not so sure. Don’t be surprised if there are quite a few more books because there are quite a few more stories yet to tell. I’ll be sure to let you know as the saga unfolds.
I also
tried to give a glimpse of what the early 80’s were like in general and the punk aesthetic specifically, but nothing can replace the music for demonstrating the intensity of that time. I encourage everyone to listen to this music. Even all these years later, it might just change your life. All those years ago, it changed mine and even now continues to keep my feet firmly planted on the ground, but not at the expense of limiting my dreams.
P.J. Post
December 18, 2013
For more information about P.J. Post, Ache and the Punk Series, please visit:
This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, bands, clubs, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.